Charcoal
by Schuyler Lola
Summary: AU Rogan. Sometimes, he wondered if she was the only good thing in his day. Currently on hiatus; may be picked up again soon.
1. Bitter Taste

**Disclaimer:** I heard a rumour they don't give under-qualified, TV addicted, writing, reading, high school students the right to any TV shows. Not even Gilmore Girls. That sucks, eh? This is in effect for this and any subsequent chapters in this story.

This is an AU Rogan fic. It starts the summer between the sixth and seventh seasons. Other than the obvious AU factor, Rory never received a loan from her grandparents for Yale.

Anyway, enjoy! Reviews are always welcome.

Chapter 1: Bitter Taste

The first time he saw her, he was sitting in a low-rent bar, twenty miles from his apartment in New Haven, drinking alone. He was putting back shots of tequila, when he noticed her. The little blond girl who'd been serving him had stopped to chat with her. For such a small-town, two-bit, haystack kind of place, there was an awful lot of college girls in there. Two, that he could see. And when he was halfway to being drunk, two was what he could count. He had been expecting some middle-aged women who were still trying to pretend they were twenty-one, and would flirt with him. Instead he found two bored, weary, exhausted girls of his own age.

The blond girl had been holding a tray with one hand, in the way that only waiters and waitresses could achieve, standing three feet away from him. In the other hand, she held his third shot of tequila. He wasn't going to make it home. He'd have to call Colin or Finn.

Wait a second. He had a driver with him tonight. Besides, it was Finn's car.

She had put his tequila on a lower counter, less than two feet away from him, in an attempt to fix her hair. 'Rory," she said, flagging down her fellow waitress, "this is for table five."

"Great," the other girl replied.

"Here," the blond said, handing her the tray. She also gave him his shot. "Sorry 'bout that."

"No problem," he managed, still fixated on the other girl.

"Anyway," the blond began. "You take that, I'll bus the tables."

"No, honestly, it's fine. We can keep -"

"You look like you're about to drop dead any second. Besides, since Alice called in sick, you've been doing everything. You can cover that tray and the bar."

"You sure know how to command, Carly," the other girl conceded, accepting the tray.

"I know." The blond tucked an order pad in her pocket. "Have fun." She made a beeline for a recently vacated table.

The other girl sighed. "Yeah. Have fun," she echoed. She moved down to the other end of the bar and started wiping the surface. He watched her movements, furious swipes of the cloth. She didn't want to be here, serving drinks and wiping counters, but he got the feeling she had to be. There was no other way.

She was pretty, with long reddish-brown hair and very fair skin. She towered over the blond girl, so presumably, she was a good height – he couldn't tell. The uniform she was wearing – a t-shirt and dark pants, standard clothing – showed off her curves, and he couldn't help staring. All the girls that alternated in his circle of friends were twig-thin.

He followed her walk to a point right in front if him. "Excuse me," he asked, pushing away his untouched shot, "could I have a plate of onion rings?"

"Sure," she replied, thumbing through the bills. Evidently, she had found his order, because she scrawled something on it. "They should be a few minutes." She gave him a smile.

"Thanks," he muttered, startled. If she had been just pretty before, now she was dazzling. Her eyes were large in her face, giving her an innocent appearance, and they were a perfect sapphire shade. He blinked his own eyes, No, he wasn't hallucinating. They were really that lovely.

The girl seemed to notice his scrutinizing of her, because the smile dissipated, and she rushed into the kitchen – needlessly; there was a window right there. He reached for his still-full shot glass, and threw it back. He waited.

The blond girl ran by him, carrying a tray he suspected was bigger than she was. He glanced around. There was a middle-aged man sitting in the corner, and a few middle-aged women chatting in another. He figured that the middle-aged guy was drunker than he was. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one who was completely wasted. However, if he'd brought Colin and Finn, Finn would be winning hands down.

Thank God he hadn't brought his alcohol-adoring friends. This wasn't a social kind of drink – it was brooding. His father was at it again, forcing him to be more and more a part of the family business. Soon he would be sucked in too far and he would get the stick to shove up his ass. He was, in fact, expecting it any day, even if it had only been a few weeks since graduation.

The brunette emerged from the kitchen. She held the plate of onion rings n her hands and the smell wafted over to him. He was starving. She handed him the plate, not quite meeting his eyes. After his intense stares directed in her direction, he had expected her to stare back. He was used to girls looking back. But she didn't offer up as much as a glance, and that's what made him wonder.

He wolfed down the onion rings. They were excellent; his friends would've approved. He wasn't so sure they'd go for a drink menu that advertised, "Founders Day Punch! Available every Saturday night, happy hour only!"

He wasn't sure why he was worried about their approval. It wasn't like he'd be back. As much as he eschewed the society life – some parts, the money wasn't so bad – he still had some sort of need to know how it would look. Even if he hated that particular trait and had groaned every time his mother had started in on it. Hypocrite.

The plate of onion rings was no empty. He checked his watch. The bar had probably closed a few minutes ago, but he had one good thing to say about small towns: they didn't rush you out.

The blond girl gave him his bill on the way by; he paid her and put his card back in his wallet. The brunette girl was back to clearing; this time, the bar itself. He reached into his wallet and took out several bills, placing them as a tip. He started for the door.

He was pulling out his phone to call the driver and ask him to top cruising around and come get hi, when he heard footsteps behind him, and a, "Rory, where are you going?" He turned around. The brunette girl was standing there, holding out the bills.

"I was wondering…" she started, "if you hadn't made a mistake. It's a lot of money, just for a tip, and -"

"It's yours," he said. "Split it with your friend."

He retained one thing from that night: her name was Rory.

* * *

Rory was sitting at the last stool in the bar, counting tips. She felt the door open, and someone step inside. "I'm sorry, but we're closed," she said.

"Relax, Rory, it's just me." Lorelai took the stool next to her.

"Mom?" Rory pushed back her hair. "What are you doing here?"

"Picking you up," Lorelai replied. "It's late. I don't want you walking home alone."

"In Stars Hollow?" Rory took half of the tip money and shoved in an envelope. "Am I going to be mugged by Babette's gnomes or something?"

"I see we have entered the no humour zone," Lorelai quipped. "What's wrong? Bad shift?"

"It wasn't a good one." Rory pointed at the envelope, as her fellow waitress emerged from the kitchen. "That's yours."

"Thanks, Rory." She stuck the envelope in her purse. "I owe you one. By the way, I just called Alice, she will be here tomorrow. If you want, you can take tomorrow off."

"No, that's okay," Rory murmured.

"Alright. See you later, Rory, Lorelai." She moved quickly, seemingly determined to leave as fast as possible, as if that would help something.

Lorelai watched her go. "Is that Carly Van Shaick?"

"Yes."

"Wow, she did not grow at all. Pretty, though. Wasn't she some super-athlete when you guys went to school?"

"Soccer. She's nice."

"Yeah, I guess we can't detract the sports-thing from her after all." Lorelai propped her chin up. "So, what happened tonight that's put you in such a cheery mood?"

"I spent six hours serving drinks and buffalo wings to already drunk people. If you're going to come to a bar, why would you show up already drunk? Doesn't that defeat the purpose? It's not like we don't have any alcohol here!" Lorelai looked like she wanted to say something, but Rory plunged on. "On top of that, I ended up bussing tables, because Alice was sick and I got hit on by a very drunk Al."

Lorelai frowned. "Oh, hon, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well." Rory swept up her half of the tips and put them in her purse.

"The Summer Days festival was tonight," Lorelai finally offered, after a few minutes of Rory's impassioned search for her wallet. "That's probably where they got drunk first."

Rory clapped a hand over her mouth. "And I missed the festival!"

She did not point out that Roy hated that particular one. "How about we go home and get some sleep?" Lorelai suggested, guiding Rory to the door. "And then, tomorrow, I'll take you to Luke's for brunch and you can talk with him about how much people suck, okay? Sounds good, huh?"

"Isn't Luke at the house anyway?"

"It's past his bedtime." Lorelai opened the Jeep's passenger door. "And b the looks of it, yours, too."

"I have to do something to pay for Yale," Rory pointed out.

"I know. Grandma and Grandpa's college fund for Rory only goes so far," Lorelai replied. "And this was the only job you could get here, since Andrew gave the inventory job at the bookstore to his niece and Luke already has Lane, and probably Zack, when she can't work anymore because of baby It."

"Have I said all that that much?" Rory asked, incredulous.

Lorelai waved a hand. "I have a really good memory."

"Oh."

"That's where you get it, mini-me."

"So you keep saying."

"Correct." Lorelai started the Jeep. "Was there anything good about your shift?"

"I made really good tips," Rory admitted.

"There you go. One ray of light."

"How poetic, Mom."

"I know. I'm working on my first poem. it'll be famous once I'm dead."

"Sounds great." Rory leaned her temple against the glass of the window. Not the wisest of ideas: their street, being a side street, a dead end and not one tourists would visit, was patched and at the same time, filled with potholes. As the Jeep bounced around, so did Rory. Lorelai glanced over at Rory, and saw her daughter's forehead hit the window fiercely as they hit a patch that was more accurately described as a speed bump.

"Town meeting's tomorrow night, right?" When Rory nodded, Lorelai felt it was okay to continue. "I think I'm gonna demand Taylor to fix this road. It's shameful. And Monty's offended. We can't have offended rooster statues."

"Mmm-hmm." Rory sat back up. "Taylor isn't going to listen to you."

"If I yell loud enough. I'll bring Luke. Maybe with Luke yelling at Taylor, too, I'll stand a better chance. Besides, Luke is always whining about the suspension in the truck getting potentially wrecked driving home."

"Hmmm."

"You're not listening anymore, are you?"

"Huh?"

Lorelai stopped the Jeep. "I didn't think so." She guided Rory across the lawn and into the house. "Alright. good-night. You sleep in. And don't get up too early, or Luke, Patty Babette, Lane and the rest of the town will kill you." She kissed Rory's forehead. "'Night, babe."

"'Night, mom." Rory sat on her bed and eased her feet out of her shoes. The pain shooting up the soles of her feet just reminded her of working the next night. she crossed the room to look in the mirror. Her hair was sweaty. She was glad that she had pinned back her bangs, otherwise they'd be plastered to her forehead. Her makeup was minimally smudged – something she was thankful for.

Sill, she looked like hell. Absently, Rory wondered what Emily and Richard would say if they could see her. They knew she was working to help pay for Yale and ensure that she had a bit of money left, but they didn't know what. She liked it that way. If they didn't know, there would be no explosive Friday night dinners over it.

They had offered to cover what the money in the college fund they'd set up for her didn't cover – "other" expenses – but Rory had protested.

_Pride_, she told herself as she took out the hairpins. _Pride is why you keep going back there, Gilmore. Don't you wish you hadn't inherited that particular trait?_

Rory took off the t-shirt and searched for pyjama top. She finally found a tank top, wadded up underneath a copy of _Alias Grace_. She shook it out, suspecting that it was Lorelai's. She also suspected that it had been there or several months. She remembered Lorelai complaining about its absence around Christmas. Well, then. She dug around some more, unearthing a pair of sweatpants, fortunately hers.

She climbed into bed, hitting the switch on her lamp and narrowly missing knocking if off the night table.

_Yeah, pride,_ she thought. _Which keeps you from being able to sleep at normal hours._

Her clock read 3:41 AM.


	2. Seven Shades of Red

Wow. The response to this has been great. I feel so loved! Thank you, everyone for the reviews and such. It's nice to hear that people like it. And on that note, enjoy another chapter!

Chapter 2: Seven Shades of Red

Rory gritted her teeth as she stormed into the back of the bar. Saturday night. The "thorn up her ass," as Carly had so charmingly termed it. Founders Day Punch night and karaoke night. She wanted to kill, maim, torture, whatever, the person who had decided it was a good idea.

They'd probably had a few cups of the punch before deciding it.

She tossed her purse on the table in the broom closet deemed as the break room. Carly was sitting on a box, cross-legged, typing on her laptop and playing music. Rory reached for apron and order pad. "'White Wedding'?"

"My sister's getting married in three weeks," Carly replied. "Besides, it helps with the thought process." She smiled apologetically. "Plus, I need to finish this paper soon."

"Oh," Rory replied. "You're taking summer courses?"

"Psychology," Carly said. She checked her watch. "We've got fifteen minutes before our shift starts." She disappeared, as Alice came in. The latter girl looked slightly terrified of Carly and Rory, although Rory had noticed the fear was slowly disappearing. "Hey, Alice," she said.

"Hey." Alice glanced back out the door. "Do you know where she's going?"

"It's Carly," Rory pointed out.

"Oh. Right."

"Feeling better?" Rory asked.

Alice tried to smile. "A bit, yeah."

"Good." Rory itched to look at her watch. She wanted to get working, but she also didn't want to. She was uncomfortable around her co-workers. Len from the kitchen was rough and snappish. Shy, terrified Alice. Impulsive, loud Carly. She made small talk, but she didn't like it. Rory had heard several mentions of people leaving parts of them behind when they went to work. She did, too. The majority of her being felt that she didn't really need to be all there. Yet, since she was often serving people she knew, very well – it was karaoke night, definitely bringing in Miss Patty and Babette – she couldn't separte into two Rorys.

Carly reappeared, snapping a hair elastic onto her wrist. "Time," she said, snatching a pen from the table.

Rory gave the three servers, who were coming in from the early shift, an empathetic look. They looked exhausted.

And soon, so would she.

* * *

"Explain something to me, mate," Finn started, slinging his arm over the headrest.

"Like what?" Logan replied, driving onto the turnoff for Stars Hollow.

"Like why we're driving to the other side of the country to get a drink – oh, sorry – so Finn can get drunk," Stephanie called.

Logan rolled his eyes. Finn, Colin, Stephanie and Robert. His friends. all of them excellent to party with, not so great at leaving something alone. Hadn't he already said why? "Because I know a really good bar that Finn hasn't been kicked out of yet, Steph." _Okay. Half a lie._

"Relax. We're hitting primitive forms of civilization now," Colin announced.

"Besides, curiosity killed the cat, love," Finn told Stephanie, who made a face and looked out the window.

"And satisfaction brought it back," Logan muttered. He was annoyed that no one ever said the rest of that expression.

Through the sheets of water coming from above, Logan spotted the bar. KC's. He parked the car, and turned around. "Here we are."

"This place?" Steph asked. "Really great, Logan!"

"Are you sure they even serve alcohol?" Finn asked.

"Finn, you hate any place that doesn't serve alcohol. That's why you stopped going to the dining hall to pick up redheads," Robert pointed out.

"And it looks like you'll hate this place, too," Colin supplied.

"Guys, calm down." Logan took his keys out of the ignition. "I'm pretty sure they serve something very close to moonshine. Okay?"

"Excellent choice, Logan," Finn said. "I congratulate you."

The bar was full, as opposed to the emptiness of the other night. Two women were on stage, singing, and all of the tables close to them were filled with people laughing and cheering. Logan looked for the servers. There was girl who hadn't been there when he had; dark-haired and clearing dishes. The blonde girl, with her long, spirally curls down her back, was carrying trays of drinks over the heads of the crowd. The seated crowd, at least. He spotted the blue-eyed girl two tables away, talking to a couple. Even over the din, he could hear them.

"What are you doing here?" the blue-eyed girl – Rory, he remembered – asked. "And how did Luke end up here?"

"Lots of persuasion," the woman said, laughing.

"Dirty," Rory replied in turn.

The man looked uncomfortable. "Rory, I'll have a beer."

"Usual kind?' Rory asked.

"You know what kind of beer I drink?" he said.

"I open the fridge sometimes," Rory admitted.

"I'll have a gin martini," the woman said. "Olive, please."

"Of course. Wait, which one of you is the designated driver?"

"Aww, how sweet." The woman handed a key ring to Rory. "We're walking home. Go wild when are you getting another car, anyway?"

"After I crashed my last one coming home to see you?" Rory accepted the keys. "Maybe never. Anyway, I've gotta -"

"Logan?"

He blinked. _Way to get caught. And you can't even pass off a crappy lie, because you don't have one yet._ "Yeah?"

"Logan, I need to know which one is the moonshine. I'm parched," Finn explained.

"Just what you need, Finn," Stephanie snapped.

"Founders Day Punch," Logan said. He checked his watch. "And it's happy hour. Order some. But we're not carrying you home."

"Can we get some food?" Stephanie asked. "I'm starving."

"Spent a day with Juliette?" Colin replied.

"Yeah." Steph flipped through the menu. "It was great. I haven't eaten in twelve hours. She has no food at her apartment."

"Sounds fun." Robert put his hands behind his head. "What's she doing tonight, anyway?"

"Some function," Steph told him. "Rosemary had to go, too."

Finn adopted an offended tone. "And we were snubbed from this? The likes of us aren't' fit to go?"

"Would you rather be at one of those parties?" Stephanie asked. "Clothes are great, but company is lacking."

"Booze is better," Coli muttered, surveying the drink list. "There."

An intense pair of blue eyes were surveying Logan's' face. He shook his head fractionally, realizing everyone was once again waiting for him. He saw the faint freckles dotting her nose. "What the hell, I'll have the Founders Day Punch."

Rory nodded, her ponytail swishing as she spun on her heel. Logan watched her rush off to the bar, give a quick smile to the dark-haired girl, who was hauling more glasses ad empty platters, and disappear to get the drinks.

The bar was getting more crowded by the second. He guessed by the way most of them were greeting one another, they were all locals. The woman that Rory had been talking to earlier was on the stage now, singing a tipsy, giggly version of 'Black Velvet.'

Logan drummed his fingers on the table, waiting. Everyone here seemed to be happy, a by-product of the town and Saturday night. He wasn't interested in happy right now – unlikely, seeing as he had a conference for work the next morning. He was interested in the blue-eyed brunette, pouring drinks at the bar.

* * *

The kitchen was only a small reprieve from the chaos out in the main area. Rory let her body slump against the wall as Len was finishing with the platter she needed.

She liked quiet. She craved quiet. She was a creature of quiet. She should've accepted Lorelai's last ditch attempt to stop Rory from working at KC's, a job at the Dragonfly, and ignore the guilt that came with it. _Some part of you had to want this_, she told herself, accepting the platter from Len. He gave her a rare smile. "Thanks," Rory muttered, sighing. It had to go to a table of college kids, about her age, and she swore she had seen some f them around Yale. She strode over to the table, placed the platter down gently, instead of dumping it like she wanted to; appraised the drinks; smiled at them and slunk back to the bar. She leaned against the counter in front of the bar taps. Finally, relaxation. Just leaning and watching – she enjoyed watching the crowd. Making observations about the things she'd seen. That was what she wanted to do, right?

"Rory?"

This had better be worth it. She went behind the bar, in direction of the voice. Lorelai was there, holding some money. "Here, babe."

"Don't overtip," Rory warned.

Lorelai shrugged. "I'm an enabler."

"Mom!"

"We're going now. Avoid any drunk old guys. Don't break anything. Don't apply mascara in a moving vehicle, even if I do. I love you, and I'll see you later, kiddo."

Someone approached them. Rory gave the movement a fleeting glance. "Are you waiting up?"

"I'd love to, but I have to work tomorrow. We've got a chocolate convention coming in." Lorelai grinned. "Lunch at Luke's?"

"Only if you bring some chocolate," Rory said.

"Bye!" Lorelai gave a quick wave. She started for the door. "Wait – count how many times Kirk rocks the Casbah. I've got four so far."

"You're kidding." Rory picked up some glasses. "I'll keep a tally."

"Thanks." The door swung shut.

Rory tapped Carly on the shoulder. "Please go stop _that_."

The other girl nodded, placing down an empty tray. "So," a voice said to her. She glanced up. It belonged to a guy, blond with dark eyes. It was the tip guy. She felt a slight blush creep up.

"Can I help you?" she asked, praying that her voice would stay steady, even after the nerves that had cropped up.

"Rory, right?" he asked.

"Uh – yes, but -"

"Logan," he replied. She tried to remember how many drinks she'd served him. "Who was that?"

"Who was -" Rory shook her head. "You mean Carly? Over there?" She spun around. Kirk was arguing with Carly. She had taken the microphone hostage, while people were yelling at Kirk. Rory smiled, before turning back.

"Carly and I go way back," Logan said. Rory quirked an eyebrow, beyond skeptical. "I meant the one before. Looks like you? Sister, maybe?"

_Another one for the charts_. "Mother," she said, leaving no lingering doubts that his mistake was another in a long line.

She was pretty sure it wasn't a pick-up line. She hoped not.

"Huh." He tilted his head. "While I'm here, I'll have a margarita."

Rory restrained from pointing out that he had the lethal Founders Day Punch at his table. She turned her back, assembling the ingredients she needed. His eyes were boring into her. She flushed even more.

She hated that feeling, embarrassment, even if nothing remotely embarrassing had happened.

Logan took a swig of the drink. "That's one helluva margarita. Do you bartend, besides working here?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "No, I don't." Rory could think of eight people who would be horrified if she did. "How do you know we even live in the same spot?" she challenged.

"Where do you go to school?"

"Yale," she muttered.

Logan nodded. "Too bad you don't bartend. I could've used your services."

Rory scanned for anyone who was looking for a waitress to take an order, or a refill, or a bill. She'd even take someone who wanted to complain. Why didn't he go talk to Carly? Or Alice? Alice didn't talk, which would've been amusing to watch. Instead, he was talking to her, at her most unflattering. "Why are you asking me all these questions?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Why not?"

"That's not an answer," she said, crossly. "You don't even know me."

"Sure I do," he said.

An ache started in her foot. She figured she now had an excuse to be rude. "Oh? Are you psychic?"

"Your name is Rory; you go to Yale; you have a very young mother, which means you were likely the result of a teenage pregnancy; you make excellent drinks but hate your job; you're polite to everyone; and everyone likes you."

She gaped at him.

He tipped an invisible hat. "See you around, Ace."

"Ace?" she called. He just waved it off.


	3. Daylight Rory

Merci for the reviews, guys. They are appreciated. Feedback after this chapter is also appreciated.

Chapter 3: Daylight Rory

"There is nothing fun about shopping for maternity clothes," Lane spat, folding her arms in front of her chest, and glaring at Rory. "It just has to be done. In, out, it doesn't matter what I'm getting, because I'll be pregnant and ugly."

"No, you won't," Rory cajoled. "You'll have the glow. You _have_ the glow."

"I have the glow?" Lane asked.

"You have the glow. You look amazing. And, yes, you won't be able to fit into your clothes soon, but you can pick out really pretty maternity clothes. They sell those, believe it or not."

Lane looked a little more receptive. Rory rushed on. "Plus, we can look at some baby clothes and you can pick out some things out for baby It."

"Okay," Lane agreed. Behind her, Zack pretended to wipe his brow. He kissed her cheek.

"See you later, I'm headed to work." The door slammed behind him. Lane cringed.

"That's nice," Rory murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing. You and Zack. It's nice."

"Yeah, it is," Lane sighed, looking far away.

Rory grabbed her arm. "Come on, let's go."

* * *

"I think I love every single pair f shoes in this store," Lane announced, looking around.

"You hate heels," Rory replied, weary. "We have been to four music stores, two shoe stores, three bookstores and one jewellery store. Baby's growing, and he wants clothes."

"He?"

"Well, I don't know. You don't even know. When will you know?"

"Baby's got to grow some more before I know." Lane clapped her hand over her mouth. "What I Zack become all Chris Martin about our kid?"

"He won't," Rory said. She pushed Lane ahead of her. "We have to get you clothes. I don't care if I have to hold a gun to your head."

"Yes, ma'am." Lane saluted. "You're funny when you attempt the strict thing?"

"Doesn't work?"

"No. Much like that horrible purple shirt you wore in seventh grade," Lane commented.

"You said you liked that shirt!" Rory exclaimed.

Lane shrugged. "Everybody lies."

"Good to know," Rory guided her into a store. "Pick something!"

"You don't rush the shopping process, Rory," Lane explained. "Didn't Lorelai teach you that? And speaking of Lorelai, did she and Luke set a date for the wedding yet?"

"You mean re-set it?" Rory asked, flipping through a rack. "Mom wants to get married on September twenty-sixth, or October twenty-ninth, Luke wants her to pick a date that they can get at the hall they want."

"I'm sure they'll argue for a while, but then it'll work out. As long as Lorelai has abandoned that running off to Vegas plan she had."

"Can you see Luke in Vegas?" Rory laughed. "Did I tell you that April is coming to spend the rest of the summer at our house?"

"No," Lane said, slowly. "She is?"

"She is," Rory confirmed. She held up a shirt. Lane shook her head. "And I don't know…it feels weird. I met her once. In eight days, we'll be sharing a house and eating the same cereal. She's practically my stepsister, and I'm an only child by nature."

"You have Gigi," Lane replied. "You'll be fine. April's a good kid."

"I don't know Gigi anymore than I know April," Rory pointed out. "My fault, I guess. I should visit her more. And she's actually my sister."

"Did someone put a worry potion in your coffee this morning?" Lane asked. "Relax. You're tighter wound than my mother's favourite clock."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, just pick out something that won't make me look fat."

Rory raised her eyebrows. Lane laughed.

"Well, well," someone said from behind her. "If it isn't Rory. Or Ace."

She whirled around. Blond hair, brown eyes, condescending tone, great smile. Tip guy. Logan. "Hello," she said. "Why do you call me Ace?"

He ignored her question. "Good, you didn't forget me," he said. "Expecting?"

Rory could feel the flush creep up her face. "No, I'm not. Are you?"

"No." Logan looked amused. "But you are standing in the maternity department, so forgive me for assuming."

Lane busied herself at a rack several feet away. A curl of annoyance blossomed in Rory, directed at both Lane and Logan. "I'm here with a friend. She wanted some advice."

"First child?" he asked.

"Yes."

He nodded. "You're wondering why I need to know."

"Still psychic, are you?" Rory said. Her hand made a fist behind her back as the flush got hotter.

"Unfortunately, they're still not letting me in the union. Something about me having to read more than one person's mind."

She shook her head. "Hey," he said, peering at her. "A real smile."

"Yes? So?"

"You look nice when you smile," he said. "And that's the first real smile I've seen from you."

Rory shrugged, crossing her arms. "You've seen me three times. I hardly think that constitutes any kind of standard."

"Annoyed?"

"No."

"Angry?"

"No."

He shook his head. "Well, Rory, you're one mysterious woman. I guess my psychic has fizzled out."

"I guess so."

"You don't like me."

"Your psychic's working again," Rory murmured. "I don't even know you."

"You don't have to know someone to hate them."

"I don't hate you," Rory replied.

"Good to know." He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. "I might drop by tonight – bye, Rory."

"Bye," she echoed.

Lane stopped pretending to look at a shirt. "Who's the mystery guy?"

"Someone I met at KC's," Rory muttered, turning her concentration back onto the clothing rack.

"KC's? While you were working?" Lane asked.

"Yes." Rory held out another shirt. "This one?"

"Maybe." Lane accepted the shirt. "You met this guy while you working."

"Yes. Didn't I already say that?"

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing. How about this shirt? Too ruffly?"

"No, it's fine. It'll look good. Even if ruffles aren't your thing." Rory combed her hair back and stared at Lane. Her petite friend was humming, a song Rory didn't recognize – Hep Alien had been working on some new stuff – and avoiding Rory's eyes. "What?" she repeated.

"Nothing," Lane replied. A strange smile played around her mouth.

* * *

Logan grinned to himself. He liked her irritated expression. Rory was interesting, to say the least. She looked better in the daylight, with her hair down and her face relaxed. He liked the way she had scowled at him. Even better, he had liked her smile. She was a challenge.

He picked up his burger and made for the door. Already, he had wasted fifteen of his twenty minutes he'd been allotted for a break. He had to drive ten minutes back to the office. Mitchum would be pissed.

A twisted smile worked its way to the surface. He wanted to piss off his father. Juvenile, yes. He didn't care. He could remember when he was five, and had spilled his sister's India ink on a carpet in his father's study. He had been scared of his father's reaction, of his mother's reaction – even his grandfather's reaction – to the black stain on the carpet, which was likely a thousand years old and passed down through countless generations of Huntzbergers. Then, slowly, he'd stopped worrying. He didn't care. He'd gotten some kind of perverse pleasure out of his father's yells. Mitchum's face had been purple with anger, as Shira's had been, but the five year old Logan had enjoyed the feeling of power it gave him, knowing they couldn't bother him.

He was infinitely screwed up. He wondered if Rory had been a rebellious teenager at all, if she had liked to drive her own father crazy. He wondered if she knew her father. He wondered about her family.

The office floated back into his consciousness. He had to get back to being a business mogul in training. Being forced into a planned future was harder work than it sounded. He gritted his teeth, and started his car.

* * *

The door of the diner jangled open as Rory and Lane entered, laden with shopping bas. Lane collapsed in a chair, dropping her armload beside her.

"You can't put those there," Luke told them, kicking a bag with his foot.

Lane made a face and pushed them aside.

"Hey, Luke," Rory chirped. "Wedding all planned yet?"

"Everything except the date," he grumbled. "Your mother is impossible."

"I know," Rory replied. "But you choose to associate with her."

He glared at her. "You mean she forces me into it."

"No, I don't think so," Rory mused. "But sorry."

"What do you want?" Luke asked. "You have five seconds."

"Why are you only giving us five seconds?" Lane asked. "I work here."

"Look around." Luke gestured to the madness behind him. "You have six seconds. Doesn't anyone eat at home?"

"With service like this?" Lorelai asked, coming up behind him, and kissing his cheek.

"I'm working," he growled.

"Oh, so sexy," she teased. "I'm going now, to stare at a calendar for hours. See you later." She kissed him again, this time he accepted it. "Bye."

"Order," Luke said, giving a last glance at Lorelai.

"Coffee. And cheeseburger," Rory blurted.

"And chilli fries," Lane added.

Luke paused before leaving, forgetting that his diner was synonymous with mayhem at the time. "She's not going to pick at date, is she?"

Rory shrugged. "Maybe."

He sighed.

* * *

She opened her book. She closed it. She checked her watch. Two hours before she needed to get to the bar. She opened the book again. Her eyes drifted, and Rory felt a twinge of nervousness.

She was nervous to go to KC's. In case Logan might be there. This was stupid. She wasn't that girl – the one who freaked out because some guy might be somewhere she was. She didn't even know him. He seemed interested, but he could just be toying with her. She was out of her range.

Logan had gotten under her skin. She had deviated from the usual Rory and snapped at him. She hated that feeling, the feeling of great, personal change. She wanted to stay the same, while everything was stirred up around her. Lane was married and pregnant. Lorelai and Luke were getting married. She had to be the sole reminder of the past. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. The nervousness didn't go away. _Stupid_, her mind trilled. _But you know that._

_Admit it. You're interested._

Rory stared out the window. That was definitely her, denial. She leaned her head on her arm, thinking. She was interested. But she wasn't going to hope. She didn't want to be crushed. If she had no expectations, she would be safe when nothing happened.

It was starting to rain, the first drops dashing against the window. _It's that kind of day_, she thought. _The rainy, pensive day when you wanted to hide. The kind when you feel tired_.

She wondered if Logan ever had those quiet days. She almost doubted it, but maybe he did. Jess had those days – maybe too much. Dean never had those days. He was always _there_.

She had to stop wondering about Logan.

She picked up her book, cleared her mind of any lingering cobwebs and began to read, making sure each letter made it through her fog.

"Does September nineteenth work?" Lorelai asked, poking her head in the room.

Rory sighed. "Whatever you want."

* * *

Rory fit her key into the door and twisted. No lights were on in the house; she assumed Lorelai and Luke were asleep. She tried to be quiet. Each step she took in her sneakers sounded like thunder.

"You don't have to be quiet, Rory," Lorelai said, calmly, from the couch.

She put a hand to her heart. It was still in her chest. "Mom? Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"With the lights out, it's less dangerous."

"Ha." Rory felt her way to the couch. "Can't you turn on a light? It'd be less creepy that way."

"The entire street has no power," Lorelai explained.

"Oh. And you're sitting out here, alone and in the dark because you thought it would be fun?"

"I can't sleep without power."

"I'm confused."

"Why?" Lorelai tilted her head, a smile playing on her face.

"Because, when the power's out, it's dark. and you like to sleep in the dark."

"It's knowing that I can have a light on that lets me sleep.' She nodded emphatically, feeding Rory's bewilderment. "Did Mommy scare you with her weird habits again?"

"I've gotten used to you," Rory replied.

"It's about time."

"Where's Luke?"

"Asleep." Lorelai sounded disgusted. "What am I going to do with him/"

"I don't know.' Rory leaned on a pillow. "When do you think the power will be back on?"

"Six hours and forty-eight minutes."

"Okay." Rory shrugged off her sweater, and Lorelai put an arm around her.


	4. Practically Stalking

Again, thank you all for the reviews and whatnot. In exchange for those, I give another chapter. Nice pattern we have going on. Enjoy! Feedback makes me happy. I love hearing what you guys think.

Chapter 4: Practically Stalking

Rory ducked in the back to fish for a hair elastic. The bar was crowded – she guessed there was nothing good on TV – and she had made the fatal mistake of wearing her hair down. She twisted her hair into a sloppy knot and pushed her bangs to the side.

Len looked annoyed as she picked up some trays. "People should stay home," he snarled. She glanced at him, her eyes wide.

"I'll tell them the food's contaminated," Carly replied, dancing through the kitchen. "That work for you?" She snatched a few plates and was gone again.

"Never met anyone more annoying." Len reached for the order Rory gave him. He started to take out vegetables and spices.

She set a platter down in front of Miss Patty and Babette. "Thank you, doll," Babette said. "You take it easy now."

"I'll try, Babette," she promised, already moving onto the next table. Alice was clearing the table beside her, their eyes locked. Alice nodded fractionally, understanding Rory's fatigue. Blindly, she set the full plates down, listening to the buzz of conversation.

"That poor girl, stuck here for the summer," Miss Patty commented. Rory felt her face grow hot.

"Shame, ain't it? I'm surprised Lorelai is lettin' her," Babette replied.

"Well, look how far -"

She escaped to the back again. Gossip. The lifeblood of any small community. She knew that. She participated in it. She just hated when she was listening to any about her. It was crueller that way, having people pitying her so much that they had to talk to her about it. Rory hated that they felt the need to pity her. Did they think she was going to have instant success?

"Rory! Come on!" Carly was running, her hair flying behind her. "We just got another group and now we have to figure out -"

"Some kind of seating arrangement?" she replied. "I'm coming."

"Yeah, great, hurry." Carly flew out and Alice popped in, grabbing place settings and leaving dishes. Rory wiped some sweat away, looking at the moisture on her hands with distaste.

She smoothed out her shirt and tried smiling before heading back into the bar. she topped short at the sight of chaos.

_Deep breath_. Rory made sure her smile was in place, before going over to help push the four tables together.

* * *

He was wasting gas by driving out here. He was going to be hung-over the next morning – just in time for his "emergency" meeting nine AM meeting with his father. Maybe he should save his liquor for the meeting. He wasn't going to like what Mitchum had to say, and he likely wasn't going to react well, so he might as well be drunk at zero hour.

_With logic like that._ Logan slammed the car door shut. There were no street lights in this part of town. He was being an idiot. Mere interest was proving to be dangerous for him, and a waste of gas.

The bar was lit up and full. The smokers had been relegated outside – there wasn't many; he guessed that smoking wasn't big in this town because the cigarette butts wouldn't look good on their historical sidewalks. He'd driven through the centre of Stars Hollow. It screamed tourist, which screamed beautification and whispered the importance of preservation of really old buildings and useless artefacts.

Logan scanned the inside of the bar. No karaoke; a relief. Many of the people in there he'd seen before. It was a regular crowd kind of place. If he wasn't careful, he could become one of the regular crowd. Hell, he knew the names of the servers on this shift; Carly, Alice and Rory. Carly was serving a group. Alice, who assumed was the busgirl, was clearing again. Or still. Rory was – he couldn't see her.

He looked for her, his eyes flitting over people, looking for her features. Blue eyes. Straight, dark hair. Pale skin. Nothing. He sat at the bar, folding his hands in front of him. Waiting, again.

Rory appeared in front of him, pen poised over order pad. He blinked. "Learned to Apparate since or last chat?"

"No," she said. "Can I get you anything?"

"Not yet." He studied her. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing. Do you want _anything_?"

"You might not make such a great tip tonight," he muttered.

"It doesn't matter," Rory replied, coolly.

"Of course it matters. You're a waitress. Tips are the point."

"Don't say it like that." She looked angry, but also resigned.

"What did I say and how did I say it?" he asked.

"Waitress," she spat. "Like I was mucking out the stalls or something. Like I'm below you. Newsflash: some people have to work."

"They sent out that bulletin last week." Logan felt a spark of amusement. She was something else, this girl. "Newsflash: I work, too."

She snorted, complete with a roll of her eyes. "No, you don't."

"Yeah? You're psychic now, too?"

"I went to school with people like you, Logan." She sighed. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Scotch neat."

She nodded, her eyes crinkled in a strange look. Rory didn't make a move for a few seconds. Then she blinked and spun around.

_I went to school with people like you, Logan._ He felt condemned and gratified at the same time.

* * *

Rory cast a glance over her shoulder. Logan was still at the bar. No longer drinking, still staring at her. It bothered her. He bothered her. He frustrated her.

She knew where this was going, and it pricked at her irritation, feeding it. Just another symptom, one she'd diagnosed before. One that she couldn't cure. She wasn't going to try.

Almost dumping the plate upside down on the table, she stuck a hand on an empty chair to steady her walk. She apologized before hastily gathering empty glasses to cover her embarrassment.

His eyes were following her moves – scooping up the glasses, rushing past him to bring them to the dishwasher, ringing up a bill at the cash, talking with Alice about place settings for table eight, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes for a minute. This was practically stalking.

And she hated that she liked it.

* * *

She said nothing. She handed him the bill and took his glass. Logan's face tightened. He barely glanced at the slip of paper; instead watched Rory smile and chat with some other people. He cleared his throat. She jumped, before gravitating back to him. He handed her his card. She turned to go ring in his bill – he put his hand on her wrist. It was delicate; he had the urge to rub his thumb along the bone that jutted out there. "Rory," he said. "Ace." She topped, searching his face. She waited for him.

For the first time with Rory, he couldn't say anything. He, Logan Huntzburger, who has a remark for every occasion, was speechless. He blinked at her feeling like an idiot. He was an idiot.

_She's just some girl in a bar_.

A girl in a bar who was staring at him with incredible eyes. He cleared his throat. "Do you want to go for dinner sometime next week?"

It was her turn to blink stupidly. On her, it looked far more appealing. "I don't even know your last name," she blurted.

Ah. Territory he could work with. "Logan Huntzbuger."

"Oh," Rory said. "Ohhh."

He got the feeling that she knew the name for something more than high-class society and old family money. Maybe for the reasons it was a name. "And you are…?"

"Rory Gilmore," she said, quickly.

"Well, Rory Gilmore, will you do me the honour of dinner next week?" he asked.

"Okay," she said, surprising herself.

"When are you free?"

"My night off is Wednesday," she replied.

"I'll call you." He smiled at her.

"But you don't know my number."

"How many Gilmores are there in Stars hollow/"

_Fine. Good point_. "You'll call me," she agreed.

"Eight o'clock or thereabouts work for you?"

She nodded, staring at her hands. He didn't leave. She wanted him to.

"Ace?" She looked up again. He looked amused. "Are you going to ring that up?"

"Sorry," she said, feeling another blush come up.

She was running out of numbers to count how many times she had blushed around him.

* * *

Rory fumed as she put chairs up o tables for the night. She fumed as she stacked menus under the bar with Alice. She fumed even more as she walked home, forgetting to keep an eye out for vicious gnomes. Or Kirk. She had to keep in her scream when she saw him streak across the town square, headed for the pool. She was never swimming there again, even if she hadn't been there since she was six.

She was upset that she had said yes. To look was on thing – oh she was admitting that now, too – to date was entirely another. Even if it was only one dinner. She was disgusted with her inability to say no. Backbone could've been used then.

Logan Huntzburger. She knew how to pick them As anti-social as Rory could be, even she had heard about his reputation.

And he was the son of Mitchum Huntzburger. The "newspaper guy," as he'd been dubbed around the Yale Daily News, spoken of in reverent tones. And now she was going to dinner with the "newspaper guy's" son, who would inherit all of those papers.

Logan had just graduated from Yale, right? She couldn't remember. She'd been in her finals-induced hibernation. She did remember that he'd been on the staff of the Daily News, theoretically – but he'd never been there when she had.

Rory thought she felt a raindrop. She wanted to run her head through the nearest wall. She wished her mother hadn't been working late that night, so she could have the Jeep.

It was drizzling. It was in the early morning hours. She had just seen a naked Kirk run through town. She had agreed to go to dinner with Logan. she didn't know why.

* * *

He pulled out of the driveway of KC's. Wednesday night, eight o'clock. He didn't even know if he had something planned. If it was work, he would skip it. If it was some function that his mother had started planning a year ago, he would fake a phone call from jail.

Logan hoped he had a clear schedule on Wednesday night. Rory had said yes. Clearly, she still thought he was an ass. He didn't blame her. He didn't have the numbers on how many nice, college-age, innocent girls were taunted and goaded by recent college grads that were becoming part of their family's business empire in the hopes that they would take it over soon, and liked it, but he figured they were pretty low.

Statistics. He wondered what the odds were that one person had failed their stats class twice. He could be a statistical anomaly. If only he'd understood what he was supposed to learn in that class.

Damn. He'd forgotten to get drunk enough to induce a hangover that would involve so much pain, which would prevent any meeting with Mitchum. Logan headed for the exit to new haven, as he tried to guess why a meeting had been called. It would start out work-related and morph into a lecture about family duty. There was no separation between personal and professional in the Huntzburger family.

His cell phone started to ring. It was the home number. Either Shira, Elias, or his sister, Honour. Honour wouldn't be the one calling. Logan let out a strangled breath and ignored his phone.

He toyed with the idea of telling Mitchum and Shira about his date with a girl who wouldn't make a perfect trophy wife.

With one hand, he dialled a phone number. "Hey, Honour? Do you have any recommendations for restaurants?"

* * *

"What are you watching?" Rory asked, dropping her coat and purse on the floor. she winced upon hearing the clatter, after noticing Luke was snoring in the chair.

"I've come to a decision," Lorelai announced.

"You're finally going to write a letter to Steven Tyler and tell him you want to marry him?" Rory guessed.

Lorelai stared at her. "I thought you were scared of that obsession."

"I am."

"Yeah, then that makes sense, you bringing it up."

Rory sat sideways on the couch. "Tell me your decision."

"Drug-addicted, misanthropic jerks of doctors are extremely sexy." Lorelai turned off the TV.

"Oh. Did you tell Luke?"

"I start slipping Vicodin in his juice tomorrow morning. And I've already filled out his application for med school."

"He'll be glad to hear it."

"Yeah." Both of them stared over at Luke. His head was tilted back, while his hand dangled off the armrest. Lorelai gave his sleeping form a smile, before turning back to look at Rory. "I have five minutes before I'll start to look like Luke over there, so give me the headlines."

"Do you think we could go shopping sometime before Wednesday?" Rory asked.

Lorelai looked surprised. "Sure, babe. Didn't you just go shopping, though?"

"I thought you said there was no limit on the power of shopping or how many times you go in a week."

"I said that. You disagreed."

Rory put her elbow on the top of the couch and leaned her head on her arm. "I have a date Wednesday," she replied, sounding surprised.


	5. Playing Games

Lalalala…school just started. So, I'm saying right now that my updates will become less frequent. Girl's gotta get a job, you know…and all that schoolwork, too…less frequency, is all. Sorry.

Chapter 5: Playing Games

Her house was at the end of a rut-filled, ancient road. It was a fairy tale house. Rory lived in a fairy tale town. Pristine sidewalks, porcelain unicorn stores, town square complete with gazebo, and an old-fashioned county inn. Trees were everywhere. So were the historical plaques. Logan was sure he'd heard about this place in one of his sister's book, when he was three. Rory's house looked familiar. Maybe it was someone's house in some wholesome, loving show.

He rang the doorbell, manufacturing his meet-the-parents persona. A scattered looking Rory opened the door. "Hi," she said, breathlessly, blood pooling in her cheeks.

"Hey Ace." He looked her up and down. Loose curls, a bit more makeup than usual, a blue dress that brought out her eyes. Like they needed help. "You look great."

"Thank you." She reached for her purse. "Shall we?"

Logan grinned. "Whatever you say."

* * *

Rory had stopped fuming approximately two hours before Logan had showed up and had started hyperventilating. Lorelai, of course, had been no help. "Paper-bagging it, are we?" she'd asked, sitting on Rory's bed. "You need to date more."

"Not helping," Rory had snapped.

"Sorry. But you should date more."

"With genes like yours?"

Lorelai had scowled. "Low blow." She held out her hand. "I'm getting married, kid."

"I'm sorry." Rory held out two dresses. "This one or this one?"

"That one. Who have you dated since Dean?" Lorelai persisted.

"You know. Trevor. David. Marty."

"All of whom didn't make it to the second date."

"I get enough grilling from Paris, thanks. When did you become so concerned?"

"I don't know…" Lorelai picked at a loose thread. "I just don't want you to coop yourself up, okay? I know you love your books and studying and I know you work nights, preventing you from actually having a social life, but you don't have a five year old. Remember to take advantage of that."

Rory nodded.

"Good." She stood up. "I'm going to Luke's, okay?"

"Bye."

Almost reluctantly, Lorelai had left Rory alone. She'd wanted to say even more, Rory knew, but she found Lorelai in too serious of a mood to let her mother go on. Rory had chewed her lip, and tucked the observation away.

Then the doorbell had rung.

* * *

She sipped her glass of wine, the liquid giving her lips a ruby sheen. She twisted a lock of her hair around her finger, before he realized she was nervous. It radiated off of her skin and enveloped her in a cloud of shyness. She wore it far better than most people carried off confidence. Her index finger was tracing patterns on her place mat. "Why did you come all the way out to KC's that night?" Rory asked, meeting his eyes as the appetizers came.

"I figured you were going to ask simple questions," Logan admitted, trying to hedge his way around it.

"Journalism major," she replied, taking a bite of salad. He watched her twirl her fork around.

"I'll have to change my nickname for you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You didn't answer my question."

"No." He paused. "You want to hear the answer?"

She rolled her eyes. "Why did I ask you then?"

"Sometimes people just ask to be polite."

"I asked because I want to know," she pressed on. "Why?"

"It was a bad night." He met her eyes again. "You've never been forced into something."

"What do you mean?"

"You weren't shoved into Yale so you could be groomed to be head of an empire, and ultimately become the world's biggest jackass, by your father, were you?"

"I don't think my father even owns stocks, let alone a company," Rory said, lightly. "No." She tilted her head, trying to get a better read on his face. "I'm sorry."

"It is what it is, Ace," he said.

She laughed. "I really want to know what that means. At least you aren't stealing my books."

"What?"

"Nothing." She shook her head. "Your turn."

"Originally, I was going to ask you what your favourite colour was, but now I think I have to match your question," Logan replied. He smiled at her. Rory felt her heart speed up in anticipation. "Why are you working at KC's?"

Rory smiled. "Not even close, Huntzburger. I'm broke. I need money." She took another drink of wine. "It's an easy question."

"Yeah? I don't think so."

"Then you're wrong." Her voice was quiet, offering no choice but to end the line of questioning.

Logan studied her shadowy face. He felt her lie, rather than hearing it.

* * *

They talked long after the nuts came. Other couples had arrived, had a meal and left, while Rory kept Logan entertained with stories about her life. She talked about Stars Hollow ("They have charts about the romance of two people who used to live there ten years ago. That's the place you've been spending your evenings"), about her mother ("She once peeled all the paint off of our front porch just so Luke would paint it and she could badger him into telling her why he hated the Easter bunny"), about her friends. He told her about his friends and their less than sane ideas ("We almost went on a road trip to eat a cactus because Finn had the car keys"), and Honour and about his own experiences growing up. _How very _Cinderella, she thought. He was the rich prince, in a proper family, with a clear future. She was the poor girl, living in a less than conventional situation.

She didn't mention the potting shed.

He drove her home, kissed her good-night, said he'd call and left. He was a perfect gentleman. Rory got the feeling he didn't want to be.

He tried, though. For her.

* * *

There was a sharp rap at the door. Logan had just sunk on the couch. "Coming," he called.

"It's me," a muffled voice said. "Is it okay if I come in?"

"Yeah."

The sounds of a key twisting filled Logan's ears, and then the sounds of Honour's shoes clicking across the floor. She sat on the coffee table. "I want to meet her," she announced.

"Who and why?"

"Don't act stupid, Logan. I want to meet the girl you took out to dinner tonight." Honour looked around the apartment. "She's not here, so she's obviously a different brand of girl than your usual type. Interesting." She pulled a cigarette out of her purse, and lit it, ignoring his glares. "Next time you plan to skip out on a family dinner, at least let Mom know you're unavailable, so we don't have to hear about it for the entire evening. She makes Dickens look short-winded."

"Since when did Shira and Mitchum plan dinner?"

"Oh, this afternoon. Check your answering machine, there should be a message there."

"Mom expects me to show up to a dinner she decided the day of," Logan muttered. "Unbelievable."

Honour took a drag from her cigarette. "Don't end sentences with prepositions. Anyway, I covered for you, but you know that family obligations come first, right? And that includes painful dinners with the family."

"How'd that go?" Logan asked. "You lie, no one believes you, Mom freaks out, good ol' Granddad starts spouting off about what a disgrace I am and Dad's late for dinner anyway."

"And Josh gets scared." Honour looked vaguely disgusted. "I wish he had more of a backbone, when it comes to _them_…"

"You brought Josh to diner, Honour?" Logan asked. "Good decision. I'm sure it helped. They hate Josh."

"I know," she said. "But we were going to go out, anyway, we just got sidetracked. And then I spent the rest of our date trying to calm him down."

"You don't bring amateurs into the Huntzburger circle." Logan flicked off the TV.

"So the girl you had dinner with tonight is never getting within ten miles of the house/"

"No."

"Let me know how that works out." Honour took the ashtray he handed her, reserved for her. She stubbed out her cigarette. "I think I like her."

"You haven't met her."

"No, but I will. Fifty bucks says you'll bring her to dinner at the house in three months."

"Be prepared to pay up."

"We'll see, little brother." She stood up. "Is that what you wore to dinner?"

He nodded. She smiled. "I am so winning." She paused at the door, her hand on the knob. "Tell me how the next date goes."

"Good-night!" he called.

"'Night." The door clicked softly behind her and the tap of her heels faded down the hallway.

* * *

Rory staggered into Luke's, her hair loosely pulled back, and wearing a giant sweatshirt. She sank into a chair across from Lorelai. She glared for a minute before putting her head in her arms. "I hate you," she muttered.

"I missed that," Lorelai replied. "Say it again, but slower and with more feeling."

"You set my alarm for eight-thirty!" Rory hissed.

"Well, we need to talk," Lorelai said. She twirled a piece of bacon. "I got a call from Emily last night."

Luke poured Rory a cup of coffee. "Do you need to talk about that now?"

"Yes. Rory need to be informed."

"The less you talk, the less pain for everyone involved," he muttered.

Lorelai gave him a smile. "Talk about what?"

"Emily who?" Rory interrupted, seeing her chance.

"Emily Gilmore, the Ice Queen." Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Maybe I shouldn't have set your alarm so early."

"You don't say."

Her mother downed the last of her coffee. "I have good news Good news: no Friday night dinner and all the fun included with it. Bad news: we have to go to some party the Gilmores are hosting. And that includes its own set of fun."

"What kind of party?" Rory asked.

"No tears, no outrage, no panic?" Lorelai stared at her. "I thought I raised you better than that. Just accepting the news of a party we're being forced to go like that!" She raised a hand to her chest. "I think I'm having a heart attack."

"You're overreacting," Luke said. "We go in, suffer through small talk with people we don't know, hit the bar and leave."

"Hit the bar first of all," Lorelai stated. "Maybe before going in. I'll bring a flask." She turned to Luke. "Why are you so calm? You hate my parents."

Luke cringed at her wording. "It's inevitable. We'll be fine. We'll have Rory. They like Rory."

"I can't stay for long," Rory warned. "What's the party for?" She stared down her mother. "Since you haven't told me."

"Sorry. I don't know. I heard, 'Party, you have to come, tell Rory and Luke,' and after that it was just my mother talking to be heard. I heard her, I just didn't listen."

"Okay. Party tomorrow." Rory looked at Luke. "Pancakes, please?"

"Coming up," he replied.

"So," Lorelai said, with a glance at Luke's back, "how was your date last night? With…?"

"Logan Huntzburger."

"Yeah. How'd it go?"

"It was nice. We went to a really nice restaurant. We talked. We ate. It was god."

"Do you think he'll call back?"

"Maybe." Rory shrugged. "I don't know."

"Do you want him to call?"

"Hey, nosy!"

Lorelai smiled. "My Indian name."

"I know."

"Do you?"

Rory shrugged again. "Yes. No. Maybe. I don't know."

"Wow, clear."

"I would have better answers if someone hadn't woken me up so early."

"I'll remember next time."

"Good." Rory sipped her coffee. She thought about it. Yes, she did want him to call. She had gotten that far.

She just wasn't going to allow herself to hope that he would.

* * *

Logan stood in the doorway of KC's. Rory was a table, writing on her order pad and talking with the people there. She was smiling broadly, looking relaxed. She looked happy. Her hair was falling in curly wisps around her face. She looked beautiful.

He sat in an office all day, going to meetings and talking to other companies about deals, and he looked like crap. She served drinks all night, and waited on people, and she looked great.

Someone tried to push their way into the bar. He shifted, standing more in the room than he had been. He hadn't wanted to go in the bar; he was just stopping by. Poke his head in, look around, and leave. After his last few visits, he'd realized that it would be easier for him to negotiate at work without already being in pain.

Sometimes, he was really an idiot. If it hadn't been obvious to him already, he would've done a lot more self-harm. Being an idiot was one thing. Knowing that he was an idiot was much safer. At least he was aware, allowing for less dangerous events.

The smells of KC's flowed to him. Food, being fried in the back. the pungent odour of alcohol. It was comforting. A nice smell. He associated it with Rory and also didn't. She had smelled like strawberries last night.

He had to call her. He wanted to call her. He didn't want to call her. He couldn't make up his mind.

Indecision. That was new.

Logan turned to go. It was late. He had work the next day. She had work. They'd talk later. He had said he'd call her later, an indefinite time.

He took one last look at her. Rory looked in his direction, not seeing him. He didn't need her to. One glimpse of her was enough.


	6. The Chocolate Tree

Alright…thanks for the reviews, guys, I really do appreciate them. You're all great. Again, I warn everyone that updates will not be as frequent as I like – or you like – but I'm trying. Thanks.

Enjoy!

Chapter 6: The Chocolate Tree

"Jeez, Mom, you really went all out for this," Lorelai said, scanning the house. "Is someone getting crowned tonight?"

"Lorelai," Emily admonished. She turned on a decorator, watching him adjust a table setting. The man's hand was shaking and he glanced fearfully at Emily. Rory shook her head in admiration. No one radiated intimidation, power and control like Emily Gilmore.

"The place looks amazing, Grandma," Rory said. She kissed Emily's cheek. "It's beautiful."

"Thank you, Rory," Emily replied. "Hello, Luke. How are you? I like that shirt. It goes with your eyes." She smiled at him, and Rory couldn't tell if she was being sincere. Luke looked pale. She wondered who despised her grandparents more, Luke or Lorelai. She'd put money on her mother, but if it was a race, Luke was a close second. Very close second.

"Rory!" Richard called, spotting her across the room. "You look lovely. Hello, Lorelai, Luke." He shook Luke's hand. "You look well."

"Thank you, Richard," Luke replied. He turned away, to cough. "Nice tie."

Rory gave Luke an empathetic smile. While she loved her grandparents, and Luke did not, she felt his pain. Talking to Emily and Richard was a delicate walk. Tell them what little you could, and you'd be fine. She'd heard that God was in the details, but she felt that in the case of the Gilmores, the details were dangerous ground. She still hadn't mentioned the details of her summer to them. She was trying to calculate how much longer she could keep it under wraps, before the explosion. Lorelai was of the opinion that she should tell them, enjoy their horror and ignore the guilt money. Rory had not pointed out that when Emily Gilmore wanted to give a person something, they got it.

"The other guests should be arriving here shortly," Emily announced. "Go on, mill about before you have to greet everyone. Richard, are the Bloomsdales coming after all?"

"Yes," Richard replied. "Angela called half an hour ago and they're coming."

"Honestly, why can't people RSVP at an appropriate time?" Emily groused. "People used to call several days before the event, when plans were being made. Now, they call four times the day of the vent, changing their minds each time. I'm telling you, Richard, I don't care if the Bloomsdales are old friends, they cannot do this to us. Next time, they won't be invited, no matter what!" She marched out of the room, scattering waiters and decorators, doing the last of touch-ups, scattering.

"I wonder if she'll slip poison in their drinks," Lorelai murmured. "That would be entertaining."

"We need entertainment already?" Rory asked.

"In about two hours," Lorelai replied. "I hope she picks the right kind."

"Your mother isn't going to poison anyone," Luke interjected, tugging at his collar.

"No?" Make sure your drink doesn't taste funny," Lorelai warned.

Rory rolled her eyes. "I think you're the prime target, Mom. Since you bent your spoon last week. Luke's probably safe."

"You shouldn't have dug at your ice cream that way," Luke added. He gave her a smirk. "Make sure your drink doesn't taste funny."

"I am her daughter. If she poisons me, I might die. And then who would she criticize and torment?"

"I don't think anyone's getting poisoned, actually," Rory told them. She knew that they would bicker forever, if left alone. Lorelai loved to taunt and Luke always took the bait. She guessed that they would be trying to one up each other for the rest of their lives.

The dining room appeared to be where the food was at. "Oh, wow," Rory breathed, as she stepped in. "That is incredible!"

"What?" Lorelai asked, following. "Oh my God. Is that what I think it is?"

"That is sick," Luke pointed out. "And terrifying."

"That is heaven," Lorelai corrected. "A chocolate tree. My mother had a chocolate tree made."

"Do you think Grandma would know if we ate the chocolate on it?" Rory asked.

"We'd be doing her a service," Lorelai replied, reaching out to grab a piece. "It'll melt once all the people are here."

"After you eat all the chocolate, you can have your poison drink," Luke suggested. The girls glared at him. "Let me guess, I don't understand."

"Now I can die happy," Rory said, staring at the tree again.

"Forget I ever complained about coming here," Lorelai said. "I now love everything to do with this party."

"Me too." Rory took a bite of the chocolate she'd pilfered. "Grandma sure knows how to pick chocolate."

"Fancy, expensive chocolate. It's excellent." Lorelai took a few more pieces. "I'm in paradise."

Rory watched Luke take her mother's hand, as they walked away. _A natural gesture_, she thought, nibbling at her own chocolate. It was simple, but it was beautiful. She was happy for them. Lorelai was sparkling now, excited and giddy about her future. She was infectious, and as much as Luke tried to disguise the fact that he was bursting with joy – couldn't have the local Oscar the Grouch fail in his role- Rory felt that he was just as happy as Lorelai. Rory knew the signs.

She drifted outside, past several of the Gilmores' friends, ones she knew by sight, and into the garden. She dipped her fingers in the fountain, swirling the water around. She thought of her own non-existent love life. She heard, on her mind's stage, Paris hounding her. Rory smiled. Paris. She had decided Rory's lack of prospects should be alleviated and had set Rory up on a series of disastrous dates.

She thought of Logan. He wasn't as much of a jerk as she'd thought. Clearly, she didn't think he was much of a jerk at all, if she'd gone out with him. She sighed. She didn't know what he wanted. She didn't know what she wanted.

Rory made her way into the frenzy of the house, keeping an eye out for a clock. she had about two hours before she had to drive back home. Luke had brought his truck, so she was commandeering the jeep.

She really needed a car.

There was a free chair in a corner. She sat down, fixing her dress. "Rory?" Emily asked, as soon as she was comfortable. "There's someone I'd like you to meet later. Some very good friends of ours. They should be here soon."

"Okay, Grandma, that sounds fine," she replied. More people to meet. She wasn't comfortable with meeting her grandparents' friends. They acted like she belonged, when she felt like she didn't. She was a Gilmore, but she was also an outsider.

She wandered off again, by herself, past the bar and the buffet table, and stood on the patio, watching the party from afar. She wondered if her distance was part of her loyalty to her mother.

* * *

Logan scanned the Gilmores' opulent house. Somehow, he'd gotten shanghaied into accompanying his parents to this party. Honour was there, too, her lips in a pout. He'd bet she'd be sneaking off to smoke at the first available moment. He lingered behind Mitchum and Shira with her. "Smoking is a filthy habit," he muttered.

"I'm not smoking," Honour hissed back.

"Yet," he reminded her. "Hand them over."

Grudgingly, she pulled out her pack. He stuck them in his pocket. "Just saving you from yourself."

"I'll thank you in my memoirs," she snapped, staring straight ahead. She manufactured a smile as the Gilmores approached.

"Shira, Mitchum, it's so good to see you," Emily greeted. "And you brought Honour and Logan. Wonderful."

A dark-haired woman, sipping a drink rolled her eyes behind Emily. "Now, Mom, don't block up the doorways."

Emily gave the woman a forced smile. "This is my daughter, Lorelai.Tthese are the Huntzburgers, Lorelai – Mitchum, Shira, Logan and Honour."

"It's nice to meet you," Lorelai said, shaking hands with them. Logan felt he knew her.

"This is her fiancé, Luke," Emily continued, glancing at the man next to Lorelai. He looked how Logan felt: they both wanted to be far away from this house.

"And our granddaughter, Rory," Richard finished, placing his arm around a girl.

A girl, with familiar dark curls and blue eyes, wearing a dark green dress. He knew where he'd seen Lorelai before. Rory gave him a smile, tinged with some embarrassment, but mostly kindness.

He slid his way out of any further conversation by calling on a drink break. Rory found him on the patio, leaning against a rail. Her hair brushed his shoulder, as she leaned on the rail beside him. She was quiet.

"You this Rory Gilmore," he said.

"Yes." She brushed her bangs to the side. "I'm this Rory Gilmore." She looked at him. "How many Rory Gilmores have you met?"

"Just one." He cleared his throat. "I'd thought two, but I was wrong."

"My dual personalities," she explained.

He laughed a little. She looked exquisite tonight. "Are you going tell me now why you work at KC's?"

"Independence," she said, looking around. Her eyes were wary. Logan saw her unease. He shook his head.

"It doesn't matter."

"I guess not." She turned around, now almost sitting on the rail. "That's your sister?"

"That's Honour." He shifted, and felt the pack of cigarettes brush his chest. "The one and only."

"She seems nice."

"You mother's getting married?"

"In September."

He nodded. "I can't believe you belong to this."

"I don't," she replied.

"Scandal girl," Logan retorted.

"I'm not the scandal girl," Rory argued. "I'm anti-scandal. I run in the opposite direction." She looked at her feet. "In different shoes."

"I thought so," he said. "How come you're here, anyway? If you think you don't belong to this."

"Usually, we all have dinner together on a Friday," she answered. "A long dinner with every course, from soup to nuts. Instead of dinner this week, attendance to this was deemed mandatory."

"Ah, obligatory parties and dinners." He moved closer to her. "I skipped a family dinner, so that's why I'm here."

Rory smiled. "You're quite the rebel, Huntzburger."

"What can I say, Ace?" He grinned back at her.

"Why not?"

"No, really."

"Think about it." Logan studied her face. She was frowning, her eyebrows knit in concentration. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm not." She ran a finger along the steel of the rail. "You didn't call back, by the way."

"I figured you might happy abut that."

"No…I think I've moved onto tolerating you now."

"I feel privileged."

"You should." Rory took her hand off the rail, and stood up straight. "I have to go to work."

"Have fun," he called.

"I will." She stopped at the door, watching him. "Bye."

* * *

She looked radically different from her soft beauty of earlier in the evening. Most of her makeup off, except for her eye makeup, giving her a dark look. Her hair had been pulled back, harshly. There was no grace in her movements here. Still, Logan approached the bar. He was still dressed for an extravagant party.

Rory stopped when she saw him, shocked. She didn't think he would bother to come to KC's after seeing her already, and that was by happenstance. He sat down. She felt her heartbeat speed up. She heard a bell behind her. Len was laying on it, glaring at her. She took the plate, meekly. She had a feeling she was a terrible waitress. Carly zipped by her to collect her own plates. Alice lifted a bin of dishes. Len was still glaring. She took the plate and served it in a haze, already drawn back to the bar, and Logan.

"This is my version of calling back," he announced.

Rory met his eyes. He was smiling at her. She felt any resolve she might have had melted.

* * *

The early morning sunlight beamed in the few windows in the room, coming through the slats of the blinds. Unfamiliar blinds. Unfamiliar room. Rory felt an ear-splitting headache. She hadn't been drinking. It was, however, seven-thirty in the morning. She had slept for three hours. She rubbed her temples, ignoring the pain shooting through her head.

God, she was hungry. She wondered where she could find some sort of sustenance. She shut her eyes, in a ridiculous attempt to fend off hunger.

She wondered if she had called to tell Lorelai that she hadn't been coming home. She knew she didn't have to, but she felt like she did. She felt the ties to her mother pull at her.

She tried to push away the fog in her head.

Her grandparents' party. Meeting Logan there. Going to work. Logan taking her to his place. She didn't know how, or why, she just remembered. It felt hazy. As if she had been watching it, instead of experiencing it. She wasn't so sure it was real.

If it was, she felt no regrets. She felt peace.

It felt cliché, cheesy movie, romantic comedy angst to her. She was assembling her night in pieces, like the heroine of the movie, trying to remember if this was the right guy and not someone else.

Rory was so tired. She ran a hand through her messy hair. She tried to sit up. Her muscles felt sore. She could feel aches.

Slowly, she disentangled herself from the sheets. She wrapped the robe she found around her. She saw the sun glinting off that blond hair, on the other pillow. She took a deep breath, allowing her dream-like memories to associate with reality.

She knew she was in trouble now.


	7. That Little Pink Strip

Merci for the reviews, guys. You know I love them. You rock.

Anyway, enjoy. Feedback equals love and all that.

Chapter 7: That Little Pink Strip

Rory stayed frozen in the centre of Logan's apartment, her arms clutched around her waist. The repeated pangs of hunger were drowned out by the hammering of her heart.

She needed to clear her head. Her fog was gone, but she felt too close to the…incident. Distance was good. She closed her eyes, trying to squeeze out any other thoughts. Okay. She needed to put distance between her and last night. Easy enough. Time was distance.

The only problem was, she couldn't leave.

Unless she planned to walk those twenty-two point eight miles back to Stars Hollow.

Logan grunted. She smiled before thinking that she shouldn't know that he talked that she shouldn't know that he talks in his sleep.

She shouldn't, but she does now.

In fact, if Rory wanted to discuss all the things she shouldn't know or have done or lived, she be in a contemplative state for hours. She sighed and tightened the belt of the robe. She spotted a coffeemaker on Logan's counter.

Oh, beautiful, glorious coffee. She wanted to hug the coffeemaker, but assumed that might be a tad premature; she hadn't even found the coffee yet. If there even was coffee.

She prayed to the Java Gods that Logan had coffee. He _had _to have coffee, or she would have a meltdown, crying and screaming in his kitchen. That would be attractive.

Rory walked across the floor, her feet jumping from the touch of the cold floor. She filled the coffeemaker with water and opened the cupboard, shuffling items around. Coffee. She needed coffee.

A painful throbbing started in her thumb and she tried to shake it out. A box of crackers hit the floor. She froze, waiting for any kind of reaction. There was silence. She breathed her short-lived sigh of relief: she had spilled a box of cereal all over the counter.

"Jesus, Ace," a lazy voice began, "what are you doing?"

"Oh, good morning, Logan," Rory replied, chewing her lip. "Looking for coffee."

"Second cupboard," he said. "What did you do?"

"Knocked some things over. I'm sorry," she tacked on, her face red, flustered.

"You're dangerous, Ace, you know that?" He crossed the room, kissed her cheek. She could feel heat from his body on her cool skin, hidden by the robe. She felt her face get hotter.

"So they say," Rory commented. She stood the cereal box upright, and started sweeping up Cheerios with her hand. Her inflamed thumb seemed to agree with the motion.

Logan's stare followed her. "You dumped my stale cereal all over the place."

"Sorry."

"I bought that six months ago."

Rory laughed. "That's disgusting."

"You're touching it."

She looked at the fistful of Cheerios she had. She dropped it in his garbage can, before darting to the sink. She stuck her hand under the scalding spray. "Ouch! Jeez!"

"I should've warned you, Ace." Logan reached for the tap, flicking it to cold.

"Thanks."

"Since you effectively destroyed a morning here," he announced, "let me take you out to breakfast."

"Can we talk first?" Rory blurted, playing with the cuff of the robe.

"Yeah, sure." He pulled out two stools. he sat down, giving the now-gurgling coffeepot a long look. Rory's feet skimmed over the icy floor as she jumped at the chance to have them up away from the cold.

She guessed that Logan had some major air-conditioning issues. Arctic habitat, in the middle of July. Maybe he was into seal hunting – and didn't want to go to Canada for the hunting season.

Rory propped her chin up with her hand, her eyes flitting up to catch his own. She pressed her lips together. She wasn't exactly sure how to begin the inevitable. Today, tomorrow, three weeks later – now was best. She twisted her hair, laced and unlaced her fingers, played with a loose thread. Logan's gaze watched each nervous movement, recording it in his mind, smiling at her attempts to breach the silence she started for them. "Rory," he said.

She blinked at him. She'd been far away, only watching the situation she'd set up for herself.

Unfortunately, detaching from her body wasn't going to make this happen. Rory moistened her lips. "We need to talk about us. Last night."

Logan nodded. He stared expectantly.

"Like, what did it mean?" she asked, letting her words out in a stream. "Is it going to happen again? I still barely know you. What's going to happen? What are you going to say to your friends, if we happen to run into one another? If I run into you. If I even see you again. Should I expect anything? Are you expecting anything?" She paused, allowing some air back into her lungs.

"Whoa, Ace." Logan held up a hand. "I think you're moving a little too fast for me to get it right now. Can you repeat?"

"I think we should talk about this," she replied, shifting her elbow.

"So do I," Logan agreed. "Just not before I wake up."

"I don't think it can wait."

Logan raised an eyebrow, shrewdly. "In a rush?"

"No," Rory said, feeling her cheeks burn. "Not really –it's just…I…I really think we need to figure something out."

"I agree." Logan stood up. The coffeemaker was happily finished making the coffee, and Rory looked on joyously as he began pouring the dark liquid into mugs.

"Thank you," Rory replied. "I now owe you my existence."

"Really."

She smiled, shyly. "I say that to anyone who has the power of coffee with them."

"Addict," he muttered. "Dangerous."

"It could be worse," she argued.

"Sure."

"It could!"

"I hear you." Logan took a mouthful of his own coffee. "Go on."

"About what?" Rory asked, stalling. She inhaled the scent of coffee. Pure, unadulterated heaven.

"Last night." He set down his mug, and folded his hands. He was back to waiting.

Rory felt her mind revert to being nervous. She needed to gain a backbone, or something; this was ridiculous. She took another long drink of the steaming liquid in front of her, before diving back in. "What did it mean?" she pressed.

"No symbolism, Rory. It's just sex."

She felt seeds of annoyance plant inside her words. "I was there, Logan. I know. But what's going to happen because of it?"

"What do you want to happen?"

"You're not supposed to answer a question with another question," Rory snapped. Frustration, in the morning, did not improve her disposition.

"Look, Ace," Logan began, "I can't answer until you've decided what you want out of this. I have no problems with last night, but you seem to be all twisted up about it."

_Figures_. Rory put her throbbing head in her hands and moaned. "I need more coffee."

Wordless, Logan retrieved the coffeepot for her. Rory re-filled her mug. She watched the ripples on the surface smooth themselves out. She grinned at the mug, a giggle escaping. "We're such soap opera-y people this morning. Written for _General Hospital_."

"Neither of us work at a hospital," he pointed out.

"They don't either,' Rory replied, still smiling.

"Have a point, Rory?"

"I don't want to be _General Hospital_. Or even _Passions_.' She stirred her coffee. I don't want this to be a big deal."

"Okay…"

"Can we just be friends?" she asked, her face creased into a pout, her eyes pleading. "I'm not reday."

"For…?"

"This. I can't – it's way too Disney." Rory wrinkled her nose. "Please?"

"Rory, Ace," Logan said. "Come on."

"Come on what?" she demanded. She had a solution. Forget and move on. He wanted to destroy it, steal what little power she had?

This was way too screwed up to be real. She thought about pinching herself.

Like that wouldn't be screwed up either.

She needed to sleep. Now. Pronto.

"Come on," he repeated. "It didn't suck."

Rory wondered how read a person's face could get before causing some sort of damage. "No," she mumbled. "It didn't."

"So, what's wrong?"

"Logan, get real. I can't, you can't." Rory's power had returned, and she felt triumphant again. Oh, she was quite twisted, indeed. "It's not like you can take me to have dinner with your parents."

"You're still a Gilmore. I may have picked you up in a bar, but I'm still failing to see the problem," Logan replied.

"That would be better!" she exclaimed. "I'm not some girl you picked up in a bar, Logan. I'm the girl who works in the bar. How does that compare to Swiss boarding schools and gold place settings?"

He wanted to laugh. But that would be too mean. This was insane. Rory was crazy. So was he. She crossed her arms and locked eyes with him. "Please, can we just forget and move on?"

Logan bowed his head. Rory held her breath, in reaction to his deep, even breaths. "Okay," he said, meeting her eyes again. "If that's what you want. can we go out to breakfast now?"

"Sure." Rory smiled at him, disguising the knot in her stomach.

* * *

He drove her home in silence. After the camaraderie of their breakfast, Rory felt sad, but didn't bother initiating any conversation. He'd been trying too hard over eggs and bacon, and she didn't want to make him try anymore.

She wasn't being fair to him, but she was too tired to care.

If she cared too much, she might be drawn in and then she'd be lost. She didn't belong there, anyway. That's what she's told him.

Rory stare out the window. Tree, rock, sign. They zipped by her, going too fast to catch more than a glimpse of them. Logan drove fast – fast and dangerous; Lorelai would hire him to drive their getaway car. She blinked at the road and nearly missed the sign for Stars Hollow.

She liked the way he drove. Quickly, confidently.

She _wanted_ to be "just friends". That was fine.

No, it wasn't.

It would have to be. She clenched her jaw. She had rules, Lorelai had rules, too - and Rory hadn't done so great when she tested how the water would feel if she'd broken the rules they set. There were rules for a reason. She exhaled deeply, trying to keep herself in check.

She was unbelievably tired, that was it.

Logan gave her the gift of a glance. She returned it, adding a smile.

She could do that, at least, right?

They pulled onto the street. Logan drove on, attempting to avoid potholes. He stopped the car. She sat still, her eyes trained on the window..

Logan rested his hand on the steering wheel. "You sure?"

Rory looked at her lap, her knotted fingers, and nodded. "I'm sure." She opened the car door. "Thanks."

* * *

Rory crept back into the crap Shack, feeling the last tendrils of shame settle around her shoulders. She kicked off her shoes, leaving them in a heap beside her mother's own twisted pile of heels. She laid her sweater on the table, before making her way to –

"Rory? Is that you?"

She let out her pent-up breath. "Yeah. It's me."

"Come here," Lorelai called back.

"Where are you?" Rory asked. She didn't want to see Lorelai right now. She wanted to take a shower and sleep.

"Up. Come on."

"Okay." Rory pointed her feet in direction of the stairs. Her muscles protested at the climb. She was still aching, the after-effects of work and little sleep. She dragged her body down the hallway, stopping at the bathroom.

Lorelai was sitting on the edge of the tub, Luke was on the floor beside her. "Hey, babe. You have fun last night?"

"Did I call?" Rory asked, slowly. Dread swam around her.

"You did," Lorelai confirmed. She looked a combination of joyful and sad. "you went out with friends, after work?"

"Yeah," she said, rubbing her temples. "I had…a good time." Rory breathed. Her chest felt tight. "Am I picking up April tomorrow?"

"If you can," Luke responded. "That'd be great."

Rory nodded. She looked back at Lorelai. Her mother's joy was tangible – but it was also unsure. Roy's throat seemed to be closing off. 'What's up?"

"Hon, I…Luke…we're -" She held out a white tube. "I'm pregnant."

Rory opened her mouth and closed it. She studied the test. She swallowed, now unable to breathe at all. "Wow."


	8. Pine Sap

Aaah! I'm very sorry about the delay. Real life is such pain, you know…Anyway, thanks for the reviews. You guys are all very sweet…and seem to be rather worried about my twist. I'm saying, relax.

Anyway, new chapter. Enjoy. Feedback, as always, is appreciated.

Chapter 8: Pine Sap

The excitement was making Rory ill. After two days of the happiness buzzing around the house – Luke's Lorelai's, and now April's – Rory was physically ill. She had thrown up twice before lunch. Her head was pulsing, and she was freezing. She went to work on an empty stomach.

She was starving. But she couldn't even keep water down.

Jealousy materialized in strange ways.

And yet – was she jealous?

The idea made her sicker. She, Rory Gilmore, was jealous of a baby that wasn't born yet. She didn't even live at home anymore; not really. She was going into her final year at Yale. Besides, her mother deserved some real happiness.

Still, Rory felt bitter. She was angry in way that she couldn't imagine before, and she was hurt too. She wanted to hide in the back and cry.

Why couldn't be she be happy, like a normal person? Lorelai was having a baby. If Rory was a good person, then she could be happy for her mother. She could congratulate Lorelai and Luke sincerely if she was a good person.

But, instead, she was sitting off by herself, in a cavern of panic. Panicked jealousy – that was the only way she could put it best. She was afraid of what might happen, after.

It was irrational, but she was afraid she would be replaced. She had craved a normal family as a kid, before ditching the dream as a teenager. Now, her mother would have that normal family. Her new sibling wouldn't have that doubt.

And besides, wasn't that what her mother wanted? Wasn't that what everyone wanted? Some kind of functional family life. One where Lorelai wouldn't have to work so hard. Rory swallowed, the lump in her throat growing larger. Tears were welling up in her eyes. She felt a crushing guilt.

She couldn't just be happy like a normal daughter. She had to be small and bitter and scared and uncertain.

She had to go through her own personal version of hell first.

* * *

"Rory," Lane said. "What's wrong?" 

Her petite friend was at the bar, dressed down and still wearing her Luke's apron. "Aren't you supposed to be working?" Rory asked, squinting at Lane in the darkened room. She had no idea what time it was.

"I just closed up," Lane replied, waving her hand. "What's up? I've received reports of you looking terrible." Lane pursed her lips, looking Rory up and down. "Rory?"

"I'm fine," she muttered.

"No, you're not."

"Check the Stars Hollow Gazette tomorrow and you might find out why," Rory answered, handing Carly a platter. "They still do nosy reports on people's lives, right?"

"Yes, Babette still submits a gossip column," Lane said. "What's going on, Rory?"

"Can I call you later?" Rory asked. Her eyes were large and shiny.

"Of course!" Lane said.

"Thanks." Rory poured a drink and handed it to someone she didn't recognize. "I just think that I shouldn't talk about it now, because I might perform a famous Gilmore meltdown, and it's hard enough to avoid it as is, and I think it would be very bad. For everyone. Imagine screaming and crying."

"Well, I'm going to be a mother," Lane pointed out. "I should get used to screaming and crying, right?"

Rory cringed, instinctively. "Right," she echoed.

"Call me as soon as you're out of here," Lane ordered. She had shifted from a caring curiosity to a severe concern. "Okay?"

"Okay," Rory said.

"Good." Lane patted her wrist. "I'll talk to you later." She turned away, headed for the door. She chewed her lip as she cast one last look at Rory.

It was nice to have someone care that much about her, but Rory felt the sudden concern suffocating.

Her head was still spinning.

She now knew that she could work herself up into being physically unwell. Her thoughts were toxic.

Rory also knew that she barrelling down the road of misery at a thousand miles an hour, and that making herself sad was stupid.

But she couldn't help it, could she? She was upset. It was one of _those_ days.

She picked up her order pad and approached the newcomer at the bar. She poised her pen over the page, before glancing at the customer.

Logan. Rory blinked.

He was still there.

Subtly, she had avoided thinking about him because that would make it worse. Her subconscious had removed anything related to Logan, and she was thankful. Since this problem was actually her fault.

Or non-problem. This one she had solved.

Right?

She didn't know anymore.

"Hi," Rory said, stupidly. "You keep coming back." She wanted to hide.

"It's the excellent service," Logan replied. "Scotch neat."

"Sure," Rory said. His presence added to her pain, which added to her nausea and then for a moment, she swayed.

"Ace?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, too forcefully. "I wish people would stop asking me that," she added, more to herself.

Logan was taken back. He stared at her. "Sorry," she said. "It's – I'll be right back."

Her face flaming, Rory departed to get his drink. Her stomach heaved as the wave of alcohol hit her and she tried to hold her nose as she finished. "Here. Enjoy," she said.

"Thank you," he replied. There was a touch of formality in his tone. She frowned.

"You're welcome."

"Rory," he began, reaching out to stop her from drifting down the counter. "Are you alright? You don't look so great."

"I'm fine," she repeated. "I -" her face blanched. She put a hand to her mouth. The moment passed. "I'm a little sick. It's no big deal."

"You look like you're going to pass out," he stated.

"Gee, thanks, Logan." Rory plastered a sarcastic smile on her face. If she pretended to be fine, maybe she would be fine.

"Don't collapse on me, Ace, because you're too stubborn to realize it."

"I think I got that from my mother," she replied.

Oh, she really could say the wrong thing at the wrong time! She felt her sadness come back, that unquestionable sadness.

With the gamut of emotions she had been running the last few days, she might be the pregnant one. Shock, anger, hurt, and sadness – she blinked her eyes hard, trying to keep the salty liquid inn. "Excuse me," Rory managed, feeling a tear escape this time. "I have to -" she broke off and bolted.

The cool, midsummer air was a balm to her sweaty skin. Rory wrapped her arms around her waist and walked toward the trees. She leaned against one, slumping till she hit the ground. She brushed a tear away. _I'm so_…she laughed, desperately. She didn't know what she was.

"Rory." Logan's voice was commanding. His footsteps across the pavement was the only thing she heard. "Are you going to tell me what's really wrong or are we playing Twenty Questions?"

She was silent. He sat down beside her. "People who are fine don't run out of work, crying and ready to puke."

Rory laughed a little. "No."

"So?" he prompted.

"So," she said. She was stuck there.

"Aren't we friends?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Sure. In the true, forever, tell-each-other-everything way?"

"I've never had that kind of friend," he admitted. "Must be a girl thing."

"You miss so much, Logan."

He shook his head. "No sidetracking, Ace." Logan bowed his head, just visible to her in the dim light.

"Okay," she whispered. She inhaled sharply. "A few days ago, my mother announced she was pregnant."

He nodded encouragingly.

"And I couldn't say anything," she said. "I couldn't offer up any kind of joy. Aren't you supposed to be happy when your mother announces she is making you a big sister? Who gets upset? Who can't congratulate her? And all I felt was…scared. And panicked, I feel like I'm being cut out and replaced with someone else.' Rory fiddled with the tie on her apron. "I'm supposed to be happy. Everyone's happy. And I'm not."

"I don't know if you're supposed to be happy," Logan said slowly. "I'm the youngest."

"Ha," she mumbled.

"But I do know," he continued, "that you're allowed to be upset if you want."

"Yeah?" Rory asked. She sniffed a bit, feeling pathetic. Wallowing in self-pity was fun in its own way, but it wasn't very attractive. She reached a hand up to push her hair back, and felt something sticky on her hand. She glared at the pine tree.

"Yeah," Logan replied. "Sometimes you have to be the lone anchor."

"The anchor of sadness," Rory mused, giggling through her tears. "I don't want to be, though."

Logan looked at her, a strange expression in his eyes. "It's never really including what you want, is it?"

* * *

Like so any other nights, a subdued Rory crept back into the house. She kicked off her shoes in the same pile and felt her way to her bedroom. She hit her foot off of the hall table, and hopped around for minute. Curling her hand around the doorframe, she hit the light switch and saw Lorelai sitting on her bed. Her mother was wearing sweatpants and one of Luke's flannel shirts. She was hugging her knees. Rory sat on the other end of the bed, tucking her feet underneath her. Her socks scratched the bottom of her calves. "Hi," she whispered. 

"Hi," Lorelai replied. "How was work?"

"Fine."

"That's good."

"Mmm." Rory sat back on her heels, tracing the same patch on her quilt, over and over again. She rubbed the worn cloth. It was faded and the fabric was becoming see-through, but right now, Rory wanted to hug the quilt. It spelled out comfort for her.

"Rory."

She looked up. Lorelai tilted her head and stared back. Rory's guilt came crashing back, unwanted. Her mother's eyes reflected the same hurt and bewilderment that Rory had seen in the mirror that morning. "Are you feeling any better?" she asked.

Rory felt queasy. "A little," she lied. "It wasn't too bad."

"I'm just making sure."

"I know." She took a deep breath. "Mom?"

"Yes, Rory?"

"I'm sorry."

Lorelai studied Rory's face. "About what?"

"For not being happy," she murmured, looking down at the quilt. It couldn't judge her.

"Oh, hon." Lorelai closed her eyes. "It's okay. I get it. You need time. I can give that."

"Can you?" Rory asked.

"I can try."

"Alright." Rory assumed her own position of hugging her legs.

"It's a big thing, isn't it?" Lorelai asked. "I can't believe…" She trailed off, focusing on Rory. "You're an only child by nature, kid."

"I guess so," Rory replied. "I just wasn't…"

"I know."

Lorelai sighed after a moment. She yawned. "You lead a strange schedule."

* * *

She was in the bookstore, enjoying the fresh scent of new books, when her cell phone rang. She fumbled with her purse before producing the phone. "Hello?" she whispered, trying not to disturb anyone. 

"Hey, Ace."

"Hi," she said, switching ears.

"You okay now?"

Rory bit a fingernail, pondering her answer. "I think so."

"Good." He paused. "Listen, Ace, I was wondering…you still have Wednesdays off, right?"

"Yes."

"A few friends and I are going to a party. Do you want to come?"

" Logan…"

"It's just a friends-thing. It's a birthday. Friends hang out. Right, Rory? Will you come?"

"Sure," she replied.

She wasn't planning on saying yes to him, but she liked the note of pleading in his voice.


	9. Crystal Clear

Major delay in the posting of this, and I apologize. And a warning: it's not going to get any better until December when reality will (hopefully) settle down a little.

Thanks for the reviews, everyone. Really. You guys are amazing.

Feedback is great (and an excellent belated birthday present - my birthday was last Monday.)

Chapter 9: Crystal Clear

"Nib?" Lorelai asked, leaning in the doorway.

Rory turned around. She was fiddling with an earring, her face screwed up in concentration. "Uh…" She fumbled some more. Finally, triumphant, she ran a hand through her hair. "Sure."

"Here." Lorelai rolled up the top of the bag and tossed it at her daughter. The bag unfolded, and several pieces of candy flew out and hit the floor near Rory's feet.

"Thanks, Mom." She bent to pick up the bag.

"I think it's time to give up your dream of playing in the MLB," Lorelai replied. "You missed my brilliant throw."

"Yes, it must be my lack of catching skills, not your lack of pitching skills," Rory deadpanned. She held up a pair of shoes. "Are these yours?"

Lorelai squinted at them. "Yes! You stole my shoes?" She threw herself at them. "I'ts okay, you're safe from the evil Rory, shoe thief that she is.' She glared at Rory, cradling the shoes protectively. "How does my stuff migrate to your room when you don't even live here most of the time?"

"It's Louella," Rory explained. "I told you not to buy a house on top of a dead cat, but did you listen? No."

Lorelai shook her head. "I should've listened. I bet she was the one who ate the ret of the Pop Tarts, too."

"Ghost cats are vindictive," Rory agreed.

"Louella knows I love her," Lorelai said. "Where are you going?"

"A party."

"Oh, I'm so proud of my social butterfly," Lorelai crowed. "Since the idea of a party a few years ago would've made you run and hide."

"I'd still rather read than watch a bunch of people I don't even know or like get completely drunk and humiliate themselves in front of large crowds."

"I know. And I'm very glad about that."

"Don't think you're getting this lucky again," Rory warned, teasing.

"If little Peach is anything like you, I'll feel lucky," Lorelai replied.

"Peach?"

"Jackson bought Davey Super Mario. He was playing it when I went to see Sookie."

"Gotcha."

"Rory?" Lorelai had lowered her voice to a stage-whisper. "I need a favour."

"Okay…?"

"Can you -" she looked around "- pick me up a coffee later?"

"Luke's got you on probation?"

"No coffee probation, coffee banning. I am not allowed to drink caffeine. I am not allowed to smell anything that caffeine might be in. I can't read any labels that have 'caffeine' written on them, I can't -"

"Okay, I get it. Luke is looking out for your health and its health. What a horrible guy."

"You're on his side? I gave you _life_."

"That's the word on the street, Mom."

"Caffeine withdrawal is detrimental to my well-being. From a poll of women in the household, it has been discovered that coffee is a staple liquid, and without it the life force behind the house might fall."

"I'll get you your coffee, Calvin,' Rory said.

"Good."

Lorelai watched as Rory searched for her purse. "You look pretty, babe."

"Thanks." Rory spun around the room, before lunging at a sweater. She joyfully unearthed the purse and kissed her mother's cheek. "I'll see you later."

"Coffee!" Lorelai called after her.

* * *

Honour had accompanied him to the party. Logan was surprised – she'd made it clear that she sort of hated Finn and Colin – but she was still sitting beside him, in the front of his car. Rory was in the back.

Periodically, he checked to see if she was still there. The whole vehicle was silent. It was reminiscent of a library.

Or a funeral – there was more of a shadow hanging over the car.

He had discovered that Rory was normally very chatty. So was Honour. He was not. Therefore, he was not the best guy to end the silence. He was starting to feel strained with the effort of acting like it didn't matter. The atmosphere was uncomfortable – for him, mostly. Honour was humming beside him, and Rory was looking out the window, in her own world.

He tapped his fingers on the wheel a little, trying to get an idea of something to say. He gave scathing looks to both Honour and Rory. He could use some help.

Actually, he was confused as to _why_ he couldn't come up with anything to say.

Logan gave up. He stopped sneaking looks at Rory, he ignored Honour's humming, he just concentrated on driving to Finn's parents' place..

The silence marched on.

God, he was an idiot.

* * *

Honour was the first person to talk to her at the party – actually, they weren't even inside when she started chattering. "Sorry for the mind-numbing awfulness on the ride here," she said, "but I was hoping Logan had brushed up on his conversation skills." She laughed. "Alas, I was wrong. We met at your grandparents' party, remember?"

"Yeah," Rory said, relieved. "It's nice to really meet you."

"Same here." Honour brushed her hair back. "Don't you hate those things?"

"I don't really go to many," she said.

"Hmmm. So you're not a society girl," Honour mused.

"Is…that a good thing?" Rory asked.

Honour shrugged. "It certainly is different for Logan." She smiled.

* * *

Colin nudged Logan. "Is that the girl from that bar you took us to?"

"So what if it is?" he snapped.

"Nice choice, mate," Finn complimented, putting an arm around Logan, and trying to down a shot. "Although, she's not my type."

"Don't be an idiot, Finn," Colin said. "Any girl with a pulse is your type."

"We're friends," Logan said, shortly.

"Sure you are," Colin muttered.

"That's almost blasphemy," Finn agreed.

Logan rolled his eyes. He brought Rory to this party, and somehow, he'd ended up talking to these two. "I don't think I can continue this conversation without a drink," he told them.

* * *

She was slightly uncomfortable in the face of all this opulence. A summertime party, with a bunch of wealthy recent college grads, was not her kind of place. She stood off to the side, Shirley Temple in hand, and watched the scene.

She had never been much of a dancer, anyway. Rory grinned at the thought of her six year old self, hoping to become a dancer of any kind.

A combination of bad music, loneliness and the heavy scent of alcohol could transport her back into her memories.

She saw Logan push his way through the crowd, moving toward her. "Hey," she yelled over the din.

"Hey," he yelled back. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied.

One of Logan's friends approached then. "Come on," he said, "I can't believe you've been standing still all night." He held a hand out to her.

She looked over at Logan, but he was already gone.

* * *

Dammit, he should've known that would bother him.

He breathed heavily, trying to calm himself. Putting a hole through the wall or something equally stupid wouldn't help.

But she had set the rules: they were friends. By that logic, he was allowed to be annoyed, but he wasn't allowed to be annoyed for certain reasons. He could be annoyed because he thought Robert was a jerk (which he was), or he could be pissed off because they had been interrupted in the midst of a perfectly good conversation.

He couldn't be pissed because he was having more than friendly thoughts.

She had that aura of innocence, but she had to know what she created.

Logan stalked over to the bar.

* * *

Rory wove through the pack of gyrating bodies, and ended back where she had come from, a spot on the perimeter of the room. She inhaled deeply, trying to regain some of the oxygen she had lost, while dancing.

She had just confirmed that dancing really wasn't her thing.

This house was amazing. Rory slipped out of the room, onto a patio and sat on a bench at the edge. From that distance, the music was tolerable. Almost. She winced as the pulsing beat of another cheesy dance song came on.

The DJ sucked.

Rory put her back to the house and leaned her arm on a rail. _Pretty view_, she thought. She forgot whose it was – or had she even known? The _fumes_ of alcohol were getting to her head. Pathetic.

There was a lake a ways away, surrounded by trees. The last glimmers of a sunset were fading over the water. _Rich people do enjoy their views_, she thought.

Cynical and bitter thoughts. Rory shook her head. She pulled her legs up on the bench, not caring how it would look. She felt very, very young. She rested her head on the top of her knees and continued watching the red sun. Threads of red were in the blue clouds. _Red sky at night…_

Quiet footsteps were coming toward her, moving closer and getting a little louder with each step. They were still barely discernable over the strains of music. She jumped, when she realized the person of the quiet steps was beside her. "Hey," Logan said. He was grinning at reaction.

"Hey," she replied. Rory stared straight ahead. She didn't trust herself to look at him.

"Not a party girl?"

"Just needed some air," she said. "But it's a good party," she tacked on.

"Yeah, well," Logan said. "Colin and Finn know how to throw them."

"They do," she agreed.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You hate the music."

"No!" she exclaimed. She wilted. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes," he said. "But only to me."

"It's just not my kind of music," she explained.

"I never said anything," he said, holding up his hands.

"You brought it up."

"You don't need to explain."

"Well, I felt like I had -" she broke off and glared at him. He smirked. She turned away.

"Rory…" he looked so apologetic that she laughed.

"I'm kidding, you know."

"Very funny."

"I know."

He bumped the elbow that was resting on the rail and she moved away. "Hey!"

"What?" Logan replied, innocently.

"Looks like we have two comedians," she mumbled.

He laughed.

Rory adjusted her headrest, crafted out of her arms, and went back to watching the sunset. "It's so pretty," she murmured.

"Yeah," he said.

His hand caught her elbow and she looked up at him – and they were kissing. His hand slid to her waist, and she was kissing him back. "Logan," she whispered.

"Ace," he replied.

"I don't – I though – what are we doing?"

"I don't think friendship is going to work," he said.

"Why not?" she asked, stupidly.

He fixed her with a look. "I know," she said. "So…?"

"If you want."

She chewed her lip a moment. She gave him a quick nod. "Okay."


End file.
